The Visitor
by iloveromance
Summary: Cary's defense of a young woman ends in heartbreak, leaving him feeling like a failure. Years later he finds himself on the opposite side, only to discover that even in the darkest of times, life is full of surprises. (Episodes: "Doubt"/"The Line").
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: In watching the episode "Doubt" from Season One, I realized how much it paralleled the Season Six episode "The Line", hence the inspiration for this story. Please leave a review or two. They are much appreciated! As always, thanks for reading!  
**_

(2010)

Wearing the standard orange jumpsuit, the young woman, Bianca Price, looked at him through tearful, dark eyes and he was no longer aware that he was holding her hand. All he could think about was the guilt; his own, and hers.

Her eyes moved from Cary to the older woman. "Ten years? But Mom, that's…."

"It's not that long, Honey."

"_Not that long?_ Mom, it's-."

"Your best option." Cary said quietly.

"Cary's right." Alicia said. "The only alternative is to go with what the jury decides. And that could be thirty years or more."

"Ten years…" Bianca repeated. "I'll be…"

"34." Her mother finished, doing her best to hold her emotions intact for her daughter and her husband's sake. "That's not so bad. You'll still have your whole life ahead of you, Honey."

"But I'll be so old!"

Cary and Alicia exchanged glances, each repressing a smile and Cary was grateful for the unintentional humor, although he wouldn't dare let his client know that he found her situation humorous. Because it was not funny; not at all. However, the humor was soon destroyed by another voice.

"All right, come on. Let's go."

Everyone turned to see the stern looking guard glaring at them, his arms crossed. Bianca gasped as she was yanked from her chair by the guard. "Wait! I-."

"Hey, easy, okay?" Cary warned, shooting a glare at the man, who loosened his grip on Bianca's arm, if only in the slightest.

Bianca gasped once more as she was pulled toward the door, glancing only at Cary. "Can I please say something else? Please?"

Cary nodded at the guard, who seemed displeased with the idea, but who was willing to go along with it.

"All right. Two minutes. No more." The guard said.

"Thank you." Bianca whispered. She broke free of the guard's grasp and went to Cary. "And thank you, Cary. For trying, anyway."

The words stung, for he'd tried his damndest to get her a verdict of _innocent_. And on top of feeling like a complete failure, he was forced to see the consequences right before his eyes. It hurt like hell. "I'm sorry." was all he could say. And to his horror, she shook her head and began to cry.

"Don't be. It's not your fault. It's mine. At least that's what everyone believes. I should have never-."

"Everything will be all right. "Alicia said. The words were meant to comfort and reassure, but Cary knew that Bianca wasn't buying any of it. But Alicia was a mother, and reassurance was what mothers knew best.

"Time's up." The guard said, making Cary wonder how it was possible for two minutes to pass so quickly.

Bianca's eyes met his and she reached for his hand. "Will you come and visit me?"

Cary nodded, trying to smile. "Sure. Of course."

"Do you think they'll keep me here, or-."

"I don't know." Cary replied, squeezing her hand. "But don't worry. I'll find you."

When Bianca was dragged out of the room and the door slammed shut, Bianca's mother began to sob uncontrollably and it took both Alicia and Bianca's father to calm her.

But Cary could only stare at the metal door with the tiny window, wishing he could have done more. Something. Anything.


	2. Chapter 2

He was briskly walking to his office when a voice stopped him.

"Cary?"

He looked up to see Jeanese, the student barely out of high school who worked in the mail room running toward him. Normally he barely had contact with her, as she didn't make many visits to the floor of Lockhart Gardner, but she'd taken the liberty to assure that all mail to the firm was delivered in a timely manner. And for that he was grateful. But apparently it also meant making personal deliveries. After the fourth visit in as many days, Kalinda joked that Jeanese was harboring a crush for the _brilliant lawyer_, Cary Agos.

Even though Cary saw right through Kalinda's compliment and laughed it off, he couldn't help noticing the way the girl was grinning at him. Jeanese was attractive, with her dark wavy hair and green eyes; that much was evident. But she was so young. _Way _too young. Still he liked her and he couldn't pretend that he didn't. And so he smiled. "Hey, Jeanese."

"Hey Cary." She said brightly. Her eyes darted from Cary to Diane and then back again, causing Jeanese to recoil slightly. "I-I mean, _Mr. Argos_."

He grinned. "_Cary_ is fine, Jeanese."

When Diane nodded, Jeanese laughed nervously and instantly seemed to relax. "Here's your mail, Cary. And yours, Ms. Lockhart. And this is for Mrs. Florrick. Oh, and this is for Mr. Gardner."

Diane's eyebrows rose and she nodded and smiled. "Well, Jeanese, you're very efficient."

"Thank you, Mrs. Lockhart. Bye, Cary."

Cary chuckled at the way the girl made it a point to smile and wave on her way to the elevator. "Bye, Cary!" She said again.

His face reddened with embarrassment and he waved back, feeling like a kid again. "Bye Jeanese! And thanks again!"

When the girl was gone, he glanced at Diane, who let out a suppressed laugh. "She likes you, Cary. She likes you a lot."

"She's young enough to be my daughter." He said absently, hoping the subject would go away. But Diane knew him too well. And then he chucked again at her expression. "All right, maybe she does. Now where's my mail?"

Diane thumbed through the stack of mail, handing Cary piece after piece. "This is yours, and this, and this and oh, this…"

"_All_ these?" He remarked, shuffling through the envelopes.

"You're popular, Cary. Maybe Jeanese has been writing you love letters."

"Oh please, give it up!" Cary laughed feigning annoyance at Diane's teasing.

"All right fine. But I won't forget about it, fair enough?"

Cary nodded. "Fine."

"Well, I'll leave you to your love letters." She said, making him laugh again. But then he paused, staring at a plain envelope. The return address was from the Dwight Correctional Center. "Hey wait. What's this?"

She glanced at the envelope. "_Dwight Correctional Center_. Interesting."

"Why does that sound so familiar?"

Diane shrugged at his comment. "Past client, maybe?"

"I guess. Well… Thanks, Diane."

"Don't thank me, thank Jeanese."

He laughed along with Diane as he waved casually and returned to his office. The letter was most likely an update on past clients. Correctional facilities did that from time to time; sent updates through the mail. As though Cary wanted to be reminded of his latest failure.

But as he entered his office and closed the door he went straight to his seat, turning it to face the picture window that framed the Chicago skyline. And once again he looked at the letter. The suspense was killing him. Eagerly he tore open the envelope and removed the carefully folded piece of paper. At first chance, it wasn't the words that caught him off guard, but the handwriting. It was unmistakable. He'd seen it at the prison, nearly a year earlier. And then the memories hit him hard as he stared at the letter in his hand.

It was from Bianca….


	3. Chapter 3

He swallowed hard, staring at the words on the page. Written in swirly cursive, as only a woman could write, it made him smile. He sighed deeply and began to read.

_Dear Cary,_

_I'm guessing that I'm the last person in the world you expected to get a letter from, right? But I couldn't think of anyone better. Oh, don't take it the wrong way. I owe you a lot for trying to help me. Well, you and Alicia. Tell her hello for me, okay? But in here-in jail, they only let me write one letter a month, so I chose you. I should have written to my parents. That probably would have been the smartest choice. But I know that getting a letter from me would only upset them. You saw how my mom gets when she's upset._

_God, I can't stop thinking about that day, when they dragged me off to jail. How my mom started screaming and crying, falling to the ground in hysterics. It still haunts me even now and it probably will continue to do so long after I get out of here. If I ever get out of here. Oh, I know the sentence is ten years but it's only been a year and it feels like twenty. To be honest, I don't think I'm ever going to get out of here. _

_I cried for days when I first got there. Prison is the scariest place in the world; people yelling, screaming fighting, all day and all night. And then they moved me to this place. Dwight Correctional Center makes the other place look like a playground. This place is pure hell. _

_It still happens; the fights, the screaming, the yelling constantly echoing in my ears. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I barely eat and this prison outfit-as lovely as it is-has become way too big, but I don't dare ask for a smaller one. I've become too afraid to ask for anything. Prison, so I've heard, is supposed to make you stronger, more immune to things. But for me it's had the opposite effect._

_ It's made me weaker, although I wouldn't dare tell my parents. They think I'm brave. How wrong they are. And as for my prison outfit, even if I could ask for a smaller size, I wouldn't have any idea what size to ask for. I don't have a clue how much I weigh and to be honest I don't have a clue about anything. Not anymore. My life as I once knew it has vanished before my eyes. I-_

"Mr. Agos?"

Cary looked up sharply to see his assistant Amy smiling at him from the doorway. Damn, of all the times to interrupt. "What is it?"

"There's a phone call for you-a Mr. Lindkiff about the Thompson case?"

"Take a message."

"But he said it's urgent."

"Take a message!" Cary repeated, more firmly. "And don't bother me again. I'm very busy, all right?"

Amy's smile disappeared and she looked as though she might cry. She was so damn sensitivie. It seemed like he was forever apologizing for upsetting her. But not this time. Finally she nodded wordlessly. "All right. I'll take a message."

Cary waited until Amy closed the door and then returned his attention to the letter. It took him a few moments to figure out where he'd left off and his efforts resulted in his having to read the letter again from the beginning, but he found that he didn't mind. The letter was strangely comforting in a way.

"_My life as I once knew it has vanished before my eyes. I know that everyone probably thinks that I have no remorse for what happened, but I think about Heather every day. __Every day__, Cary. Is that what prison is for? A place to put people to force them to think about the worst possible time of their lives? To scare them to death into becoming decent people? I'm beginning to think so. If it's true then it's working. It works really well, actually. I'll never get involved with something like that again. I wonder if Heather is looking down on me. She probably hates me. I'm pretty sure she-."  
_

Cary moved the letter closer to his face. The next word was smudged on the page, unreadable, most likely due to a tear having fallen onto it. Suddenly the idea of her sitting in her prison cell writing a letter to him that should have been written to her parents was like a knife through his heart; the heart that went out to her. And then he read on.

_"I was hoping that you'd come and visit me but I guess you're really busy. Lawyers usually are and you're certainly not obligated to do so-visit me, I mean. I'm not your client anymore and even though you lost the case, I'm guessing you get some money for your efforts, right? And I'm sure you split it with Alicia. It's only fair. It's none of my business, so I'll stop talking about it. I'm sorry; I just sometimes get a little crazy in here. You hear all of these stories on television about how prisoners get special privileges of watching TV and so forth. Well I guess I'm not one of those because all I have is this little cell that's about half the size of my dorm room. No TV, no Internet. Not even a book to read unless they come by every now and then with a book cart. I love to read. Only problem is that I've read everything on that cart probably five times over. My mom has brought me a few books but they all have a faint hint of her perfume and when I open the cover, all I do is sob. And so I just sit here staring at the walls, waiting for someone to come and visit me. Because I know it will be a long time before I get out of here. _

_Who knows if you'll even get this letter because I'm pretty sure that the guards open the mail and read every letter before they send them out. So if you're reading this, thank you again. And don't feel guilty because it's not your fault. _

_Bianca  
_Cary sighed deeply and refolded the letter placing it carefully back into the envelope. He eyed the crisp white stationery that sat on his desk; the one that read _Lockhart/Gardner. _Taking a pen out of his suit pocket, he grabbed a sheet of stationery and an envelope and addressed it to the prison; _Dwight Correctional Facility, Inmate #96253._

Why did they always refer to inmates as numbers? Didn't the prison system realize that prisoners were real people? That they had names and families? It was ironic that he was even thinking this way because so many times he would cheer at the thought of someone rotting in jail after he'd won a big case for a client. Now he was seeing a different side. He read the letter again, absorbing each word. He knew he should write back; she was probably expecting it. But he didn't know what in the hell to say.

But then it hit him.

What he needed to say he couldn't put down on paper. He needed to do it in person.


	4. Chapter 4

Damn… Why hadn't he followed through on his promise? Why had he forgotten all about her? And _how_? _How_ could he have forgotten all about a case that, at the time, meant so much to him?

The letter… Bianca's letter reminded him of what a jackass he'd been, putting his pride and his career before his promises. It had always been that way, really.

He'd always wanted to make it to the top and nothing would stand in his way. But suddenly none of that mattered. Hell, he was already near the top anyway, contrary to what Diane and Will and Alicia thought. But now getting to the top seemed almost petty and he wondered if he really belonged there.

A car horn honked, jolting him back to reality. He must have been daydreaming. Again. And from the looks of the man flipping him off in the sliver BMW with the turn signal flashing, Cary's parking space was obviously of some value.

Moron.

"Just wait till I face you in court." Cary muttered, making certain that he caught the man's eye in the rear-view mirror. And then he gestured with the same obscene sign. Yeah, guys like that always ended up in court sooner or later and Cary was fully prepared to take him down. He could just see it now… _"Do you remember leaving the parking garage on a night much like this one, where you showed your disdain for a person who was merely trying to pull out of a parking space? And do you or do you not realize that that someone was me?"  
_

He grinned at the scenario, but then was jolted yet again by the honking of the car horn. "All right, all right!" he muttered, waving and grinning at the driver as he peeled out of the parking garage. Damn, people were such idiots.

But all of that was quickly forgotten as he pulled out onto Illinois Avenue and turned left. He passed building after familiar building, all with names of huge corporate conglomerates, and all of which he'd represented in his short time with Lockhart/Gardner. How many other lawyers could make that claim?

As he neared the basketball court where he'd spent many an hour, he veered left and followed the signs to Interstate 45, the road which would take him to his destination.

Dwight Correctional Center was thirty miles east of Chicago, a trip that would take some time. Too much time; time which would give him too many minutes to think. And thinking was something he definitely didn't want to do. It was much too dangerous, especially now.

He tried music. Soundgarden, Nirvana, Stone Temple Pilots, even Owl City (a CD left in his car months before by some woman whose name he could no longer remember. Or at least that's what he told people anyway-anyone who asked, that is), but nothing seemed to work. The cloud still hung heavy over his head.

He tried breathing deeply and practically every other technique he'd been taught by Will and Diane, but they proved to be stupid and pointless. Who believes any of that stuff works anyway? Obviously Will and Diane did. But he wasn't Diane, and he certainly wasn't Will Gardner. The only person who _was_ Will Gardner was-well, Will Gardner.

However, he didn't have to worry about his next move for long, because before he realized what was happening, he was pulling into the parking lot of the Dwight Correctional Center, with no knowledge whatsoever of how he'd arrived.

His heart began to pound in his chest, a feeling that surprised him. Was he actually nervous? No way. He didn't even get nervous when he went to the dentist much less going to visit someone in prison. He'd done it a hundred times, easily; murderers, rapists, burglars, he'd seen it all. But this was a different kind of visit; dare he categorize it as a social call?

He thought about turning back. She'd never know the difference, and he hadn't exactly told her he was coming. But he'd driven all this way to fulfill a promise. An obligation.

There was no turning back now.


	5. Chapter 5

Cary got out of his car and walked into the Dwight Correctional Facility, displaying more confidence than he felt inside. Inside he was a mess, completely unprepared for this visit. He'd rehearsed in his head what he would say a hundred times, but now the words were lost on him, leaving him feeling completely empty.

Damn… Maybe he should have called, or written. People in prison liked to get letters, didn't they? He sure as hell would, if he ever ended up in prison that was. He prayed that he never would. It was bad enough on the outside, seeing it from a lawyer's perspective. He hated to think of what it was like as a convict. And he sure as hell hoped that he'd never find out.

He glanced at the crumpled letter gripped in his fingers. Bianca had taken the time to write him; the least he could have done was return the favor. He hadn't written a letter by hand in years, but he could have at least tried. Now he was left with some lame excuse that he had mere minutes to come up with. How in the hell was he supposed to explain why he'd broken his promise? Why he hadn't come to visit her until now?

When he finally summoned up the courage to walk inside, it hit him full force; a rush of memories that reminded him of how he'd failed, which broke his confidence even further. But as he neared the guard, he quickly brought his confidence up to an appropriate level; that of a lawyer who knew what he was doing. He approached the gruff-looking guard and showed his ID, grateful when the guard nodded, allowing him through.

Cary couldn't believe his luck. Rarely had he been cleared through so easily. But his luck changed almost instantly. He'd barely walked two feet down the hallway when he came to the metal detector and guards that were swarming around it like flies at a picnic on a hot Chicago day. And yet, any person could just walk in off the streets and get this far. He shook his head in disbelief. What a corrupted system the State of Illinois had.

Who in the hell designed this place, anyway?

He shook his head once more and then began the familiar ritual of removing his shoes, his watch, his cuff links, and his belt and placed them in the bins, along with his laptop and wallet. All the while the guards stared at him, as though they knew he was up to no good. Well that's where they were wrong. This was as good of a visit as it was ever going to get. It seemed strange to make a social call to the Dwight Correctional Facility and not be visiting someone who was wrongly convicted to determine how to get them out. But he couldn't focus on the reason that he was there; it would only make his confidence fail yet again.

Meanwhile he held up his hands and walked through the metal detector again and again, emptying his pockets of loose change and things he had no idea were in there. And still the guards stared at him. Didn't they realize who he was? That he was one of the top lawyers working for Diane Lockhart and Alicia Florrick? This was worse than the airport. At least on the other side of that security was freedom to fly to another part of the world and leave another part behind.

When he was finally cleared, he dressed in the things he had removed, and absently straightened his tie, not even bothering to look into a mirror. He was determined to look as professional as possible, even if he didn't feel professional at all.

He looked at the guards, not sure which direction to turn until a surprisingly stern-faced female guard nodded and pointed to a large metal door. On the other side was the woman he'd come to see. He pulled the heavy door open, suddenly realizing that he was, of all things, nervous.

No… It was more than that.

He was terrified.


	6. Chapter 6

Inside the small room were even more guards; two of them to be exact. Both were male and both of them looked like people that Cary did not want to associate with. And he hoped that Bianca had as little contact with them as possible. It was a thought that surprised him, for rarely had he shown concern for someone he'd put away. He tried yet again to remind himself that he wasn't responsible for Bianca being sent to this prison, which was even worse than the prison she'd been in before. And sure enough, the guilt he'd been ridden with for so long returned.

The guards eyed him suspiciously, even after he flashed his ID for what seemed like the tenth time since he'd arrived.

"Cary Agos." He said by way of introduction.

"What business do you have here?"

He fought the urge to roll his eyes at the stupid question. Jesus, what was wrong with these morons? Clearly he wasn't some lowlife that walked in off the street. That much should have been evident by his appearance.

"Mr. Agos?"

He looked up, almost having forgotten where he was. "Yes?"

"What is your business here?"

"Oh, I'm here to see Bianca Price. I'm her lawyer, Cary Agos." Immediately he winced. Damn why was he fumbling over his words? They already knew his name. He'd said it about a half dozen times since he'd arrived.

"All right, let's see here…" The guard picked up a notebook that sat on an adjacent table and thumbed thorough the pages. "Here we are; Inmate 96253. Hold on a second."

Cary sighed. "She's not a number. Her name is Bianca Pr-."

"Hey Harold!" the guard yelled. "Tell Robert to get 96253. She's got a visitor. Some lawyer named Agos."

"Um_, Cary_." Cary corrected him. Chances were, that Bianca might not remember Cary's full name. It was understandable. In a place like this, he'd lose his mind too.

Harold, a guy who looked to be easily in his eighties, simply nodded and headed or the door. But then he paused and turned to the guard. "Um, what was the number?"

"Oh for God's sake Harold! Why don't you listen for a change?" the first guard snapped. "96253. Tell Robert to get her! Now!"

Cary was fuming, but he didn't realize how much his pent-up anger had risen to the surface. Suddenly his body was shaking and he could no longer control his actions. His hands were on the guard's shoulders, slamming him against the wall. "Damn it, she's not a _number_! She's got a name, you got that? _Bianca Price_! _Say it_! _Bianca Price_!"

He was grabbed from behind, yanked away from the guard, his arms forced behind his back. And whoever had a hold on him, certainly had a firm grip. He could hardly breathe. His arms hurt like hell and he was sure they would be broken in seconds, when suddenly he heard;

"Stop it, please! Don't hurt him!"

Immediately Cary was released, and as he shook off the feeling of the guard's hands on him, he saw the attention move toward the woman who stood in the doorway. But it did little to extinguish the embarrassment he felt for his outburst. He looked at the guards sheepishly. "I-I'm sorry. I-."

"You're _damn right_ you're _sorry_!" The guard snapped. "And you're going to be even _sorrier_ if you try that crap again! Do you understand?"

Cary swallowed hard and glared at the guard. "Yeah." He said; his voice barely audible to his own ears. The guard caught on to Cary's insecurity quickly; too quickly. "What was that?" He yelled, making Cary flinch.

"Um, yes sir. I'm sorry. I-." Damn, suddenly he felt like a scared kid. Bianca must have thought him a complete idiot. No wonder he couldn't get her off.

"It won't happen again, RIGHT?" The guard yelled, causing him to flinch from the volume.

He stared at the guard. "O-of course not. I-."

"Leave him alone!" Bianca yelled. When all eyes moved in her direction, her expression softened. "Please…"

While he feared for her safety, he was also grateful for her concern. "Thanks" he said, his comment directed toward the guard, but intended for Bianca. For good measure he threw in a smile, but as he expected, it was not returned.

"Ten minutes." The guard snapped. "Not one second more."

"Thank you." Cary said again. For some insane reason, he expected (or rather, hoped) that the guard would leave so that he and Bianca could have some privacy. But no way in hell was that going to happen. And he had no idea why the thought even entered his mind. He sat down at the table as Bianca walked slowly toward him. And that's when he noticed her; _really_ noticed her.


	7. Chapter 7

He wasn't sure what made him press his hands against the metal table and push himself to his feet in one fluid motion as he stared at her in complete disbelief. Could this really be the same woman he'd sent to prison so long ago? The woman who had written him, practically begging him to come and visit her; a promise he'd neglected to keep until now? The same scared girl who-

She smiled timidly, which he knew took some effort, and sat down across from him.

"Ten minutes!" The guard yelled, as though Cary was incapable of telling time. One glance at his expensive Breitling watch spoke volumes of his intelligence. But apparently this jackass thought otherwise.

But something else bothered him. The guard's outburst caused Bianca to flinch, as though she was afraid that he'd lay a hand on her. Damn it. He suspected that this was the way she'd been treated every day since she arrived here. And he hated himself even more. Suddenly he realized that he was staring at her. It wasn't intentional, but he couldn't help himself. He was completely stunned by her appearance. Her dark hair was much longer than the last time he'd seen her, which was to be expected. Prisons didn't exactly have barbers, not that he knew of anyway. But it was her pale skin and her tired sad eyes that demanded his attention. And most startling was her weight.

She'd mentioned in her letter, she'd lost a considerable amount of weight, but he'd never dreamed… She was shockingly thin, much thinner than he expected. It was then that he noticed how baggy her prison clothes were, the way they hung loosely on her frail body. He forced himself to look away, ashamed of his staring, but he did so a minute too late. Their eyes met and the pain he saw in her eyes brought a strange feeling.

"Y-you don't have to feel bad… for staring that is. I know I look horrible."

"No." he said quickly. "You don't look horrible... at all. I just-."

She surprised him by reaching across the table for his hand and he took it without question, lacing his fingers through hers. He wanted to hug her; God how he wanted to hug her, to show her some comfort. A small, albeit insignificant sign that someone cared. But perhaps she wanted that too, and maybe that was why she was now holding his hand.

"It's good to see you, Cary. You got my letter?"

Amazingly, he smiled. "Yeah, I did. Thank you. I-."

"I'm sorry if I made you feel guilty. For not coming to see me, I mean."

"I promise, you didn't make me feel guilty, so don't blame yourself."

"Is… is that why you came, though?"

Damn, how was he supposed to answer that without making himself look like a complete jackass? He said nothing, but her eyes told him that she already knew the answer. And it was an answer that he didn't want to admit to.

"It's all right. I'm glad to see you."

"It's nice to see you too. How are you?"

She looked down and her eyes filled with tears before they returned to his face. "I'm-."

Instinctively, he squeezed her hand. "Hey, I'm sorry. I Just-."

She nodded. "I know. I-I'm fine I guess. I don't really think about it too much anymore; being in here. It's hard to think in here anyway with the constant screaming. It goes on all night, but you get used to it. I barely sleep, or eat or…"

He squeezed her hand again. "Hey, if you need anything at all-."

"Two minutes!"

The guard's booming voice startled them both, but Cary was especially shaken. How could so much time have passed so quickly? They'd barely sat down and started their conversation.

"Cary?"

Her voice was broken, raspy. And he was all too aware of the way her thumb was moving slowly across his hand. Or perhaps it was his imagination. But whatever it was, he liked the way it felt. His eyes met hers and he saw the tears on her cheeks; the tears he wanted so badly to brush away. But of course he didn't dare.

"Bianca, I-."

"Time's up, let's go, Price!"

The words made his heart clinch in his chest. Damn. It couldn't be time to leave. He wasn't ready. He hadn't said a third of the things he wanted, no, _needed_ to say. Now it was too late.

Before he realized what was happening, the guard had Bianca by the arm, causing her to yelp in pain as she was pulled, or rather, forced, out of her chair. And as before he immediately became defensive.

"Hey, easy with her, all right?" He shouted. "She's not-." the words that were supposed to follow ("A criminal"), he kept to himself.

The guard gave him a look that Cary knew meant that he'd overstepped his boundaries by a mile, but he really didn't give a damn. He felt a sudden, uncontrollable urge to protect Bianca no matter what the cost.

"Cary, I-."

Still holding onto her hand (he simply couldn't let go, even as she was pulled away from him, he looked into her tear-filled eyes. "Yeah?"

"Um, thanks for coming to visit me. It means a lot. More than you know. I don't get many visitors here."

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner."

"But you're here now and that's all that matters." She squeezed his hand one more time and he watched helplessly as she was dragged away from him by the guard. "Thank you, Car-."

Bianca and the guard disappeared from sight and the door slammed shut, its sound resonating loudly in the small room, therefore jolting him to the core. But it was the silence that followed that was the loudest sound of all.


	8. Chapter 8

The Dwight Correctional Center because smaller and smaller in his rear view mirror and for a split second he wanted to turn his car around and return to the prison to rescue her from that hell. But who was he kidding? If it hadn't been for him, she wouldn't have even been there in the first place.

Anger surged through him and he slammed on the breaks, nearly hitting the car in front of him. And the driver was none too happy, shouting silent obscenities and waving his fist in the air making certain that Cary saw how angry he was. The only saving grace was that the man didn't get out of his car. Cary nodded and smiled, mouthing _I'm sorry_ in hopes that the man would take the apology with little or no arguments. Amazingly the effort did calm the man down, but Cary was still fuming. When the guy turned right on a nearby street, Cary whizzed by, giving him a taste of his own medicine. The hell with him anyway. Cary was in too much of a state of anger to care what some guy thought of him. But he wasn't about to admit fault; not out loud anyway. Still he couldn't blame the guy. After all, Cary almost caused extensive damage to the man's car. He was no car expert, but judging from the make and model, the parts would be difficult to replace.

His anger was nearly at the boiling point and it was about to get the best of him. He couldn't go on like this. If he wasn't careful, he was liable to cause an even bigger accident. And he couldn't let that happen. Miraculously only a few feet away, he spotted a deserted strip mall with nary a car in sight. Thank God…

He pulled into the sorry excuse for a parking lot, bringing the car to a screeching halt. He sat inside for several minutes, fully aware of his racing heartbeat. But suddenly his anger unleashed itself. He screamed as loud as he could, banging repeatedly on the steering wheel until his hand ached. And then he continued, despite the pain. The obscenities poured out of his mouth in rapid succession, along with the frustration that he could do nothing to help Bianca, nothing at all. They were words he hadn't said since college and he'd never had a reason to say them since… until now.

Worn out from his tirade, he sat in his car, trying to force himself to calm down. But his throbbing hand was a harsh reminder of how angry he really was. Perhaps he needed a strong drink… or sleep… or both.

He drove home blindly and when he arrived at his apartment, he had no idea how he'd gotten there. It was the same feeling he'd had when he arrived at the Dwight Correctional Facility, but now that feeling was clouded by images of her. And he knew that it would be impossible to get her out of his mind. Tonight anyway.


End file.
